Page 7 of Cross Ice

We stumbled out into the hallway, me pulling him by the hand, both of us half laughing at how desperate we were. Finding room 1206, I fumbled with the key card, hands shaking.

The door opened, and we were inside. Then it slammed shut behind us.

It was a nice suite, a beautifully decorated living room with a couch and a large screen TV, a bedroom visible through an open doorway, but I barely registered any of it. I was too focused on Evan and the way he was looking at me.

I let my jacket fall to the floor. Evan’s blazer followed. Then his shirt. My T-shirt. We were shedding clothes as we moved toward the bedroom, leaving a trail across the suite.

By the time we reached the bed, we were both down to our boxer briefs. I finally saw all of him—lean muscles, sharp hip bones, smooth chest. Beautiful.

I pushed him down onto the bed and followed, covering his body with mine. He wrapped his legs around my waist and pulled me closer, grinding up against me, every inch of him hot, hard, and perfect.

“Fuck.” My breath puffed against his neck. “You’re so⁠—”

“Kiss me,” he breathed. “Please.”

So I did.

This was happening. In a hotel suite with a man I’d met an hour ago. I was about to have sex with him.

Living the life my tattoo had been telling me to live all along.

One life to live. One life to love.

And I was done wasting a single second of it.

CHAPTER TWO

Evan

I shouldn’t have been at Vivid Colors.

That was my first thought when my friend Danny ditched me at the bar, citing some emergency text from his boyfriend that I was ninety percent sure he’d fabricated. Danny had been trying to get me “back out there” for months, and apparently his strategy involved abandoning me in a gay club on a Friday night.

“You need to have fun,” he’d said before he left, squeezing my shoulder. “Stop being so serious all the time.”

I wasn’t serious. I was careful. There was a difference.

I nursed my vodka tonic and scanned the dance floor, watching couples grind against each other under the strobing lights. The music pounded through the speakers, the bass reverberating in my chest. Everyone looked like they were having a great time, laughing, dancing, touching without inhibition.

Three years ago, Ryan would’ve had me out there, posing for the cameras, standing beside him while he signed autographs, smiling while strangers gushed about his latest film. I’d never enjoyed the noise, the crowd, the spotlight.

Some things hadn’t changed. I still hated clubs.

I pushed thoughts of Ryan away and took another sip of my drink. Tonight was supposed to be about moving on, about proving to Danny—and to myself—that I was fine.

Except I didn’t feel fine. I felt restless and uncomfortable in my skin.

Maybe I should just go home.

And then I saw him.

He stood against the wall across the room, beer in hand, watching the crowd with an expression I recognized immediately. That mix of excitement and terror that came from being somewhere you weren’t sure you belonged. He was unmistakably attractive—tall, dark hair, broad shoulders, and with a build that suggested he spent a lot of time in the gym. An expensive-looking black leather jacket topped a white T-shirt that stretched across his wide chest.

He looked like trouble.

Our eyes met across the room, and I felt a jolt like an electric shock. He didn’t look away. Neither did I.

Don’t. Don’t even think about it.